“Very good then,” said Trevor. “Unless Tessa St. Croix harbors some predisposition for chronic lying—”
“It’s not that,” Joseph had said harshly, cutting him off. “It was never that.”
The earl had leaned back in his chair, raised his eyebrow, and taken another slow sip. “Well, then. There’s an inspired answer for you. If you believe this, then what in God’s name are you waiting for?”
What are you waiting for?Joseph asked himself now as he watched Tessa lose herself in the swirling eddies of a Bach aria, eyes closed, shoulders drawn. She played like a woman walling herself in, note by note. It was beautiful, emotional, and moving, but different from the abandon with which she had played at Berymede.
He chuckled now, thinking of Trevor’s view of his romantic exploits.
“Excuse me?”
The piano clunked to a halt, and Joseph and Tessa spun on the bench.
Piety stood in the doorway, tugging on leather gloves. Trevor leaned casually on the doorjamb beside her, tapping his hat in his hand.
“I hate to interrupt,” called Piety, “but, Joseph, we’ve an appointment and must dash out, just for a bit. Beckett is with his French tutor, and we’re meant to meet with the man at the end of the lesson. Another conflict of interest, I’m afraid.”
Beckett Rheese was Piety and Trevor’s third son, the wild one, the one with a heart for the open sea and little else.
Tessa rushed to stand, but Joseph grabbed her wrist and held her still. “Not old Monsieur Chapelle?” asked Joseph.
“Monsieur Chapelle has passed on, I’m afraid,” said Trevor. “Done in by your refusal to memorizeAmphitryonin the original French, no doubt.”
“I beg you,” said Piety, “please stay and enjoy the pianoforte. It is a thrill to hear music in the house. And when we return, we will take supper together. I insist. I shall send a note to Jocelyn and the duke to join us.”
“We will,” Joseph said, glancing at Tessa. She shrugged as if the decisions were his. He added, “If you really don’t mind.”
“Excellent,” said Trevor, fitting his hat on his head. “It’s all settled then. Make yourselves at home. I know Beckett will want to see you.”
And then they were gone. Tessa and Joseph sat in tense silence, listening to Piety’s voice trail down the landing and the stairwell. Seconds later, the front door opened and closed.
“We cannot simply loiter in their empty house when they’ve gone,” Tessa whispered.
“Did you know, this was my house, too,” he said. “Once upon a time.”
She glanced around. “It was?”
He nodded. “Piety gave you the grand tour, I’m sure, but I’m doubtful she showed you my favorite room. Would you like to see it?”
She looked at the beautifully upholstered sofas, the vibrant rugs, the lonely harp. “Alright.”
Joseph slid from the bench and held out his hand. She plunked out two or three more chords, like someone taking a few more bites before she left the table. She took his hand, her expression part anticipation and part hope—and ever so slightly shy. He felt a jolt of desire and possessiveness so strong, he almost pushed her back against the music room wall.
Instead, he cleared his throat and embarked on the long series of stairwells that led to the cellar kitchens.
“To properly introduce this favorite room, I must first tell you a story.” He tucked her arm beneath his.
“I should like that,” she said.
“I’ve told you that my mother was in the employ of the earl’s late mother?”
She nodded, watching him with rapt attention.
“My mother,” he went on, “was already a widow when I was a baby, and she raised me in the servants’ quarters of the small manor house in which the earl—before he was made earl—lived with his mother, Lady Blanche.
“From the time I was old enough to work, I was also in service to the household. Trevor’s father had been a second son, and his older brother held the title. Trevor’s father died in a hunting accident when Trevor was young, and he was left alone with his mother, who was feeble and given to ill health. It’s fair to say that sickly Lady Blanche and her son were largely forgotten in the hierarchy of the Falcondale earldom. We lived in a small manor house in the countryside. Trevor’s education was paid for by his uncle and the household was given a small stipend, but that was all.
“The staff was small and informal, all Trevor could afford, but this suited his lifelong aversion to intrusiveness or fussing. He is private and largely self-sufficient. That said, my mother was instrumental in caring for his mother, and Trevor had a fondness for me. He eschewed the idea of a valet, but my mother did his washing and mending and I tended to his attire in as much as he required it. I kept his room tidy, I tended his fire, I cleaned his boots. He taught me to care for his horse and tack.”
